I gulped. The movement of it made my chin strap bob.

Brax laughed. “Hold on tight, Gracie. And don’t let go.”

5. Gripped

The wind pushed against my face as I peered around Brax’s shoulder. We cruised through the tree-lined campus avenues, surrounded by century-old brick buildings, and I couldn’t help noticing all the looks being thrown our way. I had no doubt people wondered what new stupid girl Brax Jenkins had lured into his web of womanizing charm. Well, the joke was on them. I wasn’t lured. And I wasn’t a stupid girl. I was fully aware of the dangerous situation I’d placed myself in by accepting a friendly dinner date. But I had it under control. Dummy. You should’ve never agreed to go. Should’ve never let him in the dorm for that matter. You know good and well he sets you on fire like no one else ever has. Friendly dinner date my ass. Now what are you going to do?

Brax’s strong hand pressed my arms tighter against his stomach.

I swallowed. Hard. Maybe control wasn’t exactly the right word. Determined? I was stuck now. On this friend-only dinner … excursion. Maybe it’d be the last one.

Once we hit the main street, Brax picked up speed, and so did my heart. He had both hands on the bars, and I didn’t need him to encourage me to hold on tighter. I squeezed my arms around him. Warmth from his skin seeped through his jacket, his tee shirt, straight into my arms. His abs were ridiculously ripped and scored with muscle. Before I’d known what was happening, my knees were squeezing his thighs.

Brax picked up speed, and I found myself holding my breath. My brothers and I had grown up with dirt bikes, and we’d played on them our whole lives. But this was different. Fast. Exhilarating.

I was positive the driver had a lot to do with it.

Soon Brax slowed as we cruised through first one small town, then the next, passing local gas stations and grocery markets. I stared at Brax’s back, his broad shoulders. A piece of his neck showed, between helmet and jacket collar, and again I noticed the black ink tattooed into his skin. I wondered what they all were, what they meant. As I peered over his shoulder again, I saw his hands gripping the bike bars, and the letters inked into his knuckles. The inked band at his wrist that barely showed beneath the cuff of his jacket. Brax Jenkins was truly an enigma. No doubt the same things intrigued every single girl he’d had on the back of his bike. Typical tattooed bad-boy. Every girl’s dream—even if they never told anyone. Was I included? Apparently so.

As we rode down the main street of a small town called Campton, there were business establishments, mom-n-pop restaurants, and bars on both sides of the road. Brax pulled into a place called Tulley’s Chowder House, and it had a big white clam painted on the side of a faded blue stained concrete building. He downshifted, pulled into a parking spot, and rolled to a stop. Killing the engine, Brax braced the bike with his legs. When I swung off he followed, knocking the kickstand with his boot heel, and his movements were as smooth and natural as his sly smile. He pulled his shades off, then his helmet, and turned to me. Dark curls hung in careless disarray. I nearly fell onto the concrete. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to those eyes. They were secretive and clear and fathomless. What in the world had I been thinking, agreeing to come tonight? Brax Jenkins, even on my very best day, was way, way out of my league. Even as a friend.

That blue gaze regarded me as he slipped my glasses off my eyes, then unfastened my strap. Not wanting him to think I was, in fact, a chicken, I watched him as intently as he watched me. A small smile quirked his lip as he studied my face.

“You always had them freckles on your nose there, Gracie?”

Stupid freckles. They made me look like a child. I shrugged, and pulled off my helmet and handed it to him. “For as long as I can remember, I guess.”

Brax hung it on the handlebar with his, then turned a focused gaze on me. “Are they just on your nose, or everywhere?” His mouth pulled into another sly, sly grin.

I narrowed my gaze and noticed his black and blue eye was a shade lighter today. “My mom would say, don’t be so damn fresh.” The freckles were just on my nose, as far as I could tell. But he didn’t need to know the character of my anatomy. The hidden parts, anyway. “And you can ease up with all the flirting or I’ll take a cab back to Winston.”

Brax stared at me, then laughed. “Swear to God, Gracie, you’re killin’ me. Fresh? Blouse? Swell?” He laughed again and shook his head. The movement made his hair fall over his eye, and he jerked his head to move it. “I feel like I’m in some, I don’t know, fuckin’ nineteen forties Honeymooner’s sitcom.” His eyes lit on me, steadied, stared. “My charm is something I can’t control, Sunshine. Don’t take it so personal. It’s all in good fun so just roll with it. You aren’t callin’ a cab, so let’s go eat. You hungry?”

I watched him for a second or two before answering. At least he admitted it: Don’t take it personally. He was flirty with all girls. Okay, I could handle that. I had a brother just like him. Brax wanted me to roll with it? I could roll; as long as I didn’t feel closed in or threatened, everything would be okay. And so far, strangely enough, it was okay. Finally, I nodded. “Stahved.”

A throaty chuckle escaped Brax’s mouth, and he placed his hand at the small of my back. “What are you, crackin’ wise, makin’ fun of my Southie again? Let’s go.”

I smiled, and let him guide me to the front door. “Now I feel like I’m in some gangster movie, at a barber shop slash money laundering joint, slash … horse gambling ring,” I teased. Teased? Brax Jenkins had now coaxed me into teasing?

Brax rounded on me and held the door open. His mouth lifted at one corner, in a half-cocked, carefree smirk. “Hey, I know that barber shop. My friend’s mother’s Uncle Jackie runs it. It’s is as reputable as they come, that place. And I know you wanna say bahba like me, but try to refrain yourself, if at all possible. No high-jackin’ my Southie, sweetheart. I’m original.”

I shook my head and walked through the door he held open. “Holy smokes, it’ll be hard, but I’ll try.”

Brax laughed again, and was still chuckling when the hostess walked up to us. She was a pretty blonde, tall, with br**sts she was obviously proud of since they popped out of the top of her v-neck shirt. Her gaze skipped over me completely and landed straight onto Brax.

“Just two?” she asked. Her eyes softened as she looked at him.

I felt Brax’s hand leave my back. I couldn’t help but lift my gaze to his.

And there it was; I saw it. Right before my eyes. Way different than the way he looked at me. The womanizing glint I’d been warned about. The cocky, devouring smile he gave the girl as he checked her out from head to toe. “For now,” he said to her. “You new? I’ve never seen you here before, sweetheart.”

I stood there, intrigued and scathing at the same time. Well, maybe not scathing, but … something. Brax’s flirting was going on right in front of me. And the hostess was flirting right back, as if I wasn’t standing there, with him. Sexual tension rolled off him. Off of her. I could feel it where I stood, and it shocked and irritated me.

Really, though, I wasn’t with him. We were there as friends—if you wanted to even call it that. I’d just met him myself. But she didn’t know that. Which made her rude and tasteless in my book. But who was I to judge? Again. I’d been fairly warned.

Finally, the hostess passed me a quick glance. The look on her face revealed surprise, probably at why Brax was even with me. Maybe I should tell her we’re brother and sister?

“This way,” she said. She wore a snug pair of jeans, low-waisted, and her tight-fitting v-neck also rose just enough over her waist to flash tanned skin beneath. I followed behind her, and noticed the extra twist she put into her walk.

What girls did to get guys’ attention was idiotic. If only they realized how ridiculous they looked. Stupid, stupid girls.

I threw a quick glance over my shoulder at Brax. His gaze was fixed on her backside. In some kind of trance. Probably his magical porno radar wiener wand was on full alert. I almost snorted out loud at the image that thought conjured.

To be honest, I was glad the whole flirty, bootie-shaking scene transpired in front of me, and right up front. That uneasy, giddy feeling I’d had earlier faded almost instantly. It made me feel very much like an idiot. Seriously. Brax? Attracted to me? And even if he was, it wouldn’t have gone anywhere. My choice. It sounded ridiculous in my head. I now felt more relaxed, like I could be myself. No second guessing. Brax was what he was, and he’d claimed nothing less from the very beginning.

The hostess stopped at a booth, and I slid in. Brax pushed in across from me, and she handed him both menus. She smiled, and I could tell she was pooching her lips out so Brax would fix on them. “Enjoy your meal.”

Under my lashes, I watched Brax’s eyes follow her sexy sauntering figure as she left. Before he caught me looking, I snatched my gaze back to my bag, which I lifted off my shoulder and set aside. When I looked up, he was studying me. I smiled at him and held out my hand for a menu. His eyes narrowed, then he handed me one.

Setting the flat, two-sided piece of laminated plastic on the table, I started scanning the choices. “So what’s good?” I asked, and looked up. “Since this is your place.”

An intense glint flickered in the depths of those odd blue eyes as he regarded me. “Well.” He set his menu aside and rested his forearms on the table. He leaned toward me. “As I said, this ain’t Boston. You won’t find any decent North Atlantic Scrod, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” He grin was lop-sided. “Chowder’s not bad. Lobster? Nah. Fried oysters, they’ll do for central Texas.”

I felt my lips pull at the corners. “Were you an extra in Good Will Hunting? I’m just asking.” I widened my eyes, extra-like, star-struckish. “Oh my God, do you know Matt Damon? Mark Wahlberg?” I closed my eyes and sighed, then opened them and rapid-fire blinked. “Tell me you know Ben Affleck. Swear to God, I’ll die right here in this booth if you do.”

Brax stared at me, then threw his head back and laughed. Loud. He wiped his eyes with his knuckles. “Okay, smart ass. At least you got good taste. No, I don’t know them.” He leaned closer and raised his brows. “But I know someone who does.”

“Swell!”

Brax rubbed his chin with his hand, and shook his head as his eyes found mine. “What are you? Bednobs and Broomsticks? Mary Poppins?”

I pressed my lips together and shrugged. “Maybe.”

Our waiter showed up then, a cute guy, a little on the short and stocky side with blond hair, our age. He gave a nod to Brax. “Hey, man. How’s it goin’?”

Brax looked at me. “Swell. Thanks for askin’.”

I shook my head.

“Drink, ma’am?” the waiter asked me.

“Um, tea with ginger if you have it, thanks,” I said.

Brax looked at me, lifted one brow. “Same.”

The waiter left to get our drinks, and Brax leaned back and hooked his arms on the back of his booth. It pulled the material of his tee shirt tight across his chest muscles. He eyed me closely. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never been just friends with a ginger tea drinking virgin before. I kinda like it.”

Anger rushed to my throat and cheeks. I glanced around, then back to Brax. “Would you mind not announcing it to the whole restaurant?”

The throaty chuckle that came from Brax was contagious, despite my horror at how loud he’d just stated my alleged virginity.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t say it out loud again,” he said.

I frowned. “Make sure that you don’t. And stop thinking about it, while you’re at it.”

His mouth pulled up. “No promises there, Sunshine.”

Our waiter returned, and I ordered fried oysters and fries. Brax ordered the same, along with the chowder. Chowdah. The waiter left, and Brax leaned back.

“So tell me about this ranch life of yours, Gracie,” he said. “You live far from here?” Fahr.

I drew a long pull of tea through my straw, and it was sweetened, with a hint of ginger, and perfect. “About three and half hours south. A little town, Jasper. Typical small-town Texas.” I shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. We broke horses for ranchers—”

“We?” Brax interrupted.

I nodded. “Me, my mom, my Grandpa Jilly, and my three brothers.”

“No father?”

Fahtha. I shook my head. “He left a long time ago. When I was three. I don’t remember him at all.” Well, only flashes of memory. Nothing worth telling, and more likely than not they were fixed memories from the handful of pictures Mom kept in her top dresser drawer.

Something passed in Brax’s eyes then; I wasn’t sure what it was. A glint of sadness? I couldn’t tell. “Damn shame,” is all he said.

Then he leaned forward, his tattooed hands rested on the table. “So let me get this straight. You get a horse. A wild f**king horse. And you get on it. And this horse, he runs around, bucking and crazy as all holy gates of hell, and throws your skinny little ass all over the place until what?”

The lights overhead were getting hot, so I slipped out of my denim jacket and set it beside me. I shrugged. “Until he either throws me off or stops bucking and follows my command.”

For a split second, Brax’s gaze softened, smoldered, just like it had when he’d flirted with that hostess. Fleeting, it faded quickly. “And how exactly do you make a wild horse ten times your size follow your command?”